


Last Chance To See

by princesskay



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e11 Chapter 24, Explicit Sexual Content, Missing Scene, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Edward is Claire and Frank's last chance to see what it would be like to let someone into their private space, and into their hearts





	Last Chance To See

Edward suspects that most people who know Claire professionally think that she’s an insufferable bitch. Assuredly, in the public eye, she is viewed as a cheater and a baby killer. 

Now, waking up between the Egyptian cotton sheets bathed in warm, morning sunlight, and sandwiched between her body and that of her husband, Edward knows those latter two conclusions to be true. 

But he doesn’t see those past actions as punishable crimes, or reason for the  demonization and condemnation she’s received from the public. With last night’s choices and pleasure fresh in his brain, he knows Claire would have never had the affair with Adam Galloway if Frank hadn’t known - and approved. As for the abortion, Edward has always been of the persuasion that as a male of the species, he has no say over what a woman should or shouldn’t do with her body. 

And well, the part about her being an insufferable bitch just isn’t true. The people who think that don’t know her the way that Edward does. They haven’t seen her be soft and vulnerable in the walls of her own home, with wine-stained lips and glassy eyes like Edward has. They haven’t looked up from between her thighs while she arches and moans in ecstasy. They certainly haven’t sat back and watched the tenderness with which she trails her kisses down Frank’s chest. 

She’s not a bitch; she just likes to be in control. 

At first, Edward thought Frank would have been the one calling the shots, but he was quick to realize - even with the bourbon dulling his brain - that last night was a carefully orchestrated venture crafted by the Vice President’s wife. He’s pleased by the correction - never been so happy to be proven wrong. 

A smile twitches on his mouth as he opens his eyes, and looks across the pillow at the back of Claire’s head. 

He hasn’t moved an inch since waking, careful not to wake one or both of them. He needs to relieve himself, but he can ignore the burn for right now. He’d rather stay right here. 

The bed is king-sized, but they’re crowded to the middle like sardines in a can. It’s a rough metaphor for the tangle of limbs wound like symbiotic vines around one another, the soft gust of Frank’s slumbering breath on the back of his neck, and the silky softness of Claire’s hip beneath his hand. 

He’s not delusional. He knows this may not last. He knows this could be the first and last time to ever experience the Underwoods in the privacy of their bedroom. It may be the last glimpse of Claire’s bare shoulders, rising and falling in serendipitous sleep. It may be the last of his peace if he’s thrown out of this room when they awake - a casualty to Claire’s whimsy, a discarded counterpart of a reckless one night stand. 

Would they do that to him? 

He prays not. But he won’t delude himself into thinking he knows them, and every dark corner and recess of their collective mind. 

This is dangerous - he’s well aware. It’s the danger that made every orgasm so strong. 

Edward presses his eyes shut as instant heat swells within him, hampered only by the growing pressure of his bladder. Despite the discomfort, his cock is nudging hard against Claire’s backside in an instant. 

They wrung every possible shudder and drop from him in the small hours of the night, but his body has revived itself with the rising of the sun. 

Claire mumbles, stirring and shifting back against him. 

He lies perfectly still, biting his lip to keep from whimpering. Her ass is all but rocking against his cock, nurturing the erection pumping to fullness beneath the sheets. 

She reaches back with a limp hand, patting along the sheets to find his thigh. Her fingers take hold, and pull him against her. 

Emboldened, Edward tilts his head across the pillow to find her smooth shoulder with his mouth. He leaves a gentle, querying kiss there, and she arches her neck to offer him more. As he leans in to plant his mouth against the curve of her throat, he feels Frank’s hand press against his ribs. 

Claire turns her head to look over her shoulder as Frank rises to his elbow behind them. 

“Good morning.” He says, his voice hoarse from sleep.   

Good morning.” Claire murmurs back. She glances at Edward from the corner of her, smiling delicately. 

“‘Morning.” Edward whispers, the word low and choked in the back of his throat, “Ma’am, sir …” 

Claire begins to laugh, soft and whimsical like the trickle of a stream. 

“You can drop the formalities - for now.” Frank says, smiling fondly. “As soon as we’re out of the bedroom, you’re nothing but our loyal Secret Service agent, but not here.” 

“I thought we mentioned that last night.” Claire says. 

“You did, but-”

Frank bends down to kiss his neck, spilling a fresh wave of tingles down the back of his neck. It’s like feeling it for the first time again even though intercourse had concluded only a few hours previously. 

“Sleep changes nothing.” Frank whispers, his voice like honey slipping through Edward’s body. 

Claire rolls over onto her side to face him, her eyes glittering like gemstones. 

“It’s early yet.” She says, consulting both of them with a suggestive gaze. 

“I have to report in at 7:00.” Edward says. 

“It’ll be fine. You can use our shower.” Frank suggests. 

“And I put your clothes through the washer and dryer last night.” Claire adds. 

“All right, but under one condition.” Edward says. He immediately wonders if he’s in a position to make demands, but some things are unavoidable. “You have to let me up to use the bathroom or you’re going to be washing more than just my clothes.” 

Claire bursts out laughing, in a way Edward hadn’t thought she was capable of until last night after a few drinks. She sits upright, and tucks her knees against her chest. She waves her arm to offer him a way out of the bed. 

“Please do.” 

Edward clambers from the bed, catching his ankle in the sheets before tugging himself free and rushing to the bathroom. He has the impulse to cover his burgeoning erection, but the thought is instantly eclipsed by how silly vulnerability is in this situation. 

Ducking into the bathroom, he stands over the toilet, and tries to convince his cock to go down just enough to relieve himself. Out of the bed and away from Frank’s and Claire’s warm bodies, it’s less difficult than he expected, but it still takes longer than he hoped. 

He can hear the low tenor of Frank’s voice, and softer, Claire’s. He can’t make out the words. 

After flushing the toilet, he creeps to the door, and presses his ear to the crack. He could ask them straight out what happens after this morning, but he knows he’ll get a scripted answer. They’ve been more than honest with him, but honesty has a ceiling with the Underwoods - or so he assumes. A life in politics doesn’t exactly create an honest environment, even behind closed doors. They have to protect themselves. 

“... it was reckless, I know, but it’s something we both wanted.” Claire’s voice rises above the fading sound of the toilet water filling back up. 

“I think we’re entitled to little enjoyment every once and awhile.” 

“He’s someone we can trust.” 

“I know he won’t say a word to anyone.” 

Edward purses his lips as Claire’s high-pitched moan interrupts the serious conversation. They’ve started without him. He should go back out. 

He turns to lean against the door, and draws in a deep breath. Across the bathroom, the mirror reflects the image of a nervous young man with dark hair, and racing brown eyes. He’s flushed. A novice in comparison to the two people on the other side of the door. 

Last night, he had been too drunk to think, but he’s clear now. And possibly in over his head. 

“Edward, are you coming?” 

He jolts at the sound of Claire’s voice drifting through the door. 

He smears his hair back from his forehead with a sweat-lined palm, and stands up straighter. 

When he opens the door and steps out into the bedroom, he sees Claire stretched out in the middle of the bed, and Frank lying beside her, his hand between her legs. 

“Come on.” Claire says, half-moaning as Frank’s fingers continue to massage her. 

Doubt is swallowed by need as Edward stumbles forward. It’s like the bathroom was a whole other world - a part of reality - but this bedroom is cocooned in a fantasy that he wishes would last forever. 

He crawls onto the end of the bed and forward, sinking down between Claire’s open legs at the instructing wave of her hand. Franks fingers slide apart and up, exposing her wet, swollen clitoris. Edward presses his face between her thighs, and tastes her arousal. 

He’s busy going down on her as Frank rises from the bed, and takes the bottle of lube from the nightstand. He circles the bed, and Edward feels the mattress dip behind him. He digs his knees into the sheets, and tilts his hips up in offering. Deep in his chest, his heart thuds like the blows of a hammer. His stomach drops and twists with spiraling desire, so fierce and hot that his cock aches before Frank has even laid a finger on him. 

When the caress, slick and warm with lube, does come, Edward can hardly maintain the focus of his mouth between Claire’s legs. She grabs at his hair, and grinds her hips into his face. He can hardly breathe as she grows wetter beneath his tongue, and Frank’s fingers delve into his pulsing, eager body. 

The moments stretch on in strained, aching need. It’s a balancing act, keeping his mouth precise and persistent against Claire without letting his attention be snatched away by the massage of Frank’s fingers inching deeper and deeper inside of him. 

Claire’s moaning reaches a fever pitch just as Edward feels three of Frank’s fingers fit inside him. She lurches against him, climaxing in beautiful, long spasms. 

He drops his head to the sheets as she curls away from his mouth, panting softly. Frank’s fingers are sliding in and out with ease, leaving him quaking and burning with need. Arching into the pressure of Frank’s hand, he conveys with all his body that he’s ready. 

Frank pauses, and Edward looks up just long enough to see Claire’s face. They’re silently communicating over his stretched out body. She reaches over to the nightstand, and dips her hand into the opened box of condoms. Taking one out, she tosses it underhanded, and Frank snatches it out of the air with a deft hand. 

Edward rests his cheek against the sheets, closing his eyes, and breathing in and out steadily as he listens to the tear of the wrapper, and Frank’s low huff as he stretches the condom over his cock. 

Another dose of lube drips over his hole unexpectedly, and he bites back a whine. Frank rubs the head of his cock against him, pushing that choked sound to his tongue, past his gritted teeth. And then, comes the wonderful, aching pressure, and the slight, tingling burn of his flesh stretching to accommodate. Frank thrusts softly against him, working his way inside completely. He’s silent until his hips are flush against Edward’s, and then he moans in absolute pleasure. 

His palm slides down Edward’s spine, following the arching path all the way up to his nape. His fingers curl around Edward’s throat, pulling him up from the sheets just firmly enough to dictate where he wants Edward to go. 

Edward rises unsteadily to his knees, moans spilling freely from him as the ascent shifts Frank’s cock inside him through a series of pleasurable degrees. 

When he’s upright, Frank’s fingers slide from his throat, and up the curve of his jaw, dragging Edward’s head back against his shoulder. His mouth latches beneath Edward’s ear, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Hips rocking gently against Edward’s, he reaches out a hand to motion Claire forward. 

Once a spectator, Claire prowls forward to lay her hands on Edward in unwavering ownership. Edward cries out as her fingers wrap firmly around the base of his cock, dragging up and down in an erotic massage. 

“Oh, yes …” Edward moans. 

Stars twirl behind his eyelids as she bends down - her gaze filleting him from eyes, to chest, to belly, to cock - until her mouth is wrapping around him in a slick, velvet embrace. 

He grabs uncontrollably at her hair, unable to reign in the pleasure racing through him like electricity. She doesn’t seem to mind. Her responding groan vibrates through his cock, pulling the pleasure from him with casual ease. 

Meanwhile, Frank’s cock is riding against his prostate - not hard, but firm so that it unravels him slowly, letting the pleasure simmer and grow, and turn to clenching, aching need low in his belly. He’s moaning, blinded by pleasure, hardly able to process Frank’s mouth trailing down his neck, and his palms sliding up to clasp Edward’s chest. All he can feel is the pleasure rolling through him like a tide, and the white light of orgasm rushing in to claim him. 

 

~

 

The bedroom is quiet now. 

Claire dusts blush across her cheeks in the mirror, and inspects her reflection with a critical eye. Beneath layers of makeup, her skin is still aglow with the salacious details of the previous night - and the delectable morning. 

She glances across the room at the bed. Francis has already pulled the sheets taut over the mattress, and rearranged the pillows in such perfect order that it looks as if the whole ensemble has just stepped out of a homemaking magazine. 

The evidence is already polished away, and she half-wishes Francis wasn’t so particular about making the bed. Last night held the first moments of real abandon and satisfaction for the first time in weeks. 

She had been drunk, yes. And reckless, just as she had admitted to Francis this morning. Perhaps it wasn’t such an awful thing given how rested she’d woken up feeling. The stress of daily life and all the opposition their plan now faced seemed far away when both their hands were on her body. 

Drawing in a breath, Claire jars herself from her reverie to consult the clock. Time to face reality. 

She goes downstairs to find Francis slicing an apple at the island. 

“How’s your head?” He asks as she strides to the counter to get a cup of coffee. 

“Fine.” She says, “I took a couple of Asprin before I went to sleep last night. You?” 

He bites into the apple, a look of surprised but delighted realization crossing his face. “I slept like a baby.” 

“Good.” She says, sitting down at the island. She reaches for the newspaper, not entirely interested in what’s on the front page. “You needed that.” 

He grabs the other newspaper, and they both read in silence. They don’t mention last night for the rest of the day. 

 

~

 

That evening, they’re sitting on the window sill sharing a cigarette in silence when Francis clears his throat. 

“Can I safely assume last night was about more than you just being a little drunk and wanting to have some fun?” 

She regards him with a thin smile. He knows her so well. 

“Megan Hennessy was here.” She says. “After her interview with  _ The Times. _ ” 

“Did it not go well?” 

“The interview went very well, actually. It was after … when she was coming down that-”

“Coming down?” Francis asks, faintly alarmed. 

“She’s on a lot of pills.” 

A frown creases his brow. For a moment, she glimpses real sympathy in his eyes. 

“She has it a lot worse than I did.” She adds, taking a generous drag from the cigarette. 

“Not everyone is as strong as you are.” 

“It’s not about the damage.” Claire says, “We all have the same scars, the same memories. It’s about coping. I’ve coped, but last night, I wasn’t.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, leaning forward to grasp her knee. 

“I’m fine now.” 

He regards her with an expression of lingering concern before she offers him the cigarette with a forced smile. 

He takes a long drag, and blows smoke out the open window in a steady stream. 

“I have to admit, the stress of this investigation has been taking it’s toll …” 

“I don’t think Edward knows what a help he’s been to us. Should we tell him?” 

“No …” Francis says, waving a hand. “I think he understands, in a way. Don’t you?” 

“We’ve done this before.” Claire says, “But not with someone we care about this deeply. I’m not sure I want him to walk away from last night think it was just about sex.” 

“Wasn’t it you who said that when we care too deeply it blinds us?” 

“We already crossed the line.” 

“I think Edward knows.” Francis says, giving her a reassuring smile. “The best thing we can do now is to continue treating him as a good friend. And if we have another night like last night, we extend another invitation.” 

“It’s dangerous.” Claire murmurs, plucking the cigarette from Francis’ hand. “We shouldn’t …” 

“It’s up to you.” 

Claire lets out a breath, and shakes her head. “I know you enjoyed yourself; I shouldn’t dictate-”

“Claire, remember when I asked you if you missed Adam, and you said no. And you asked me if I was unsatisfied, and I said no?” 

“I think what you said was that it was too dangerous, and there was no one we could trust - but, yes, I remember.” 

“I meant it. We chose this -  _ us.  _ We could have chosen a less exposed life where we could be within whomever we please, but we chose this. And we just happened to be lucky enough to find someone like Edward, but I still choose us.” 

Claire ducks her head as Francis leans in to kiss her on the cheek. 

A knock on the front door shifts both of their attention away from the conversation. 

“I’ll get it.” She says. 

As she walks to the front door, she can glimpse Edward’s silhouette through the opaque glass. She pulls the door open, a smile rising unbidden to her mouth. 

“Ma’am,” Edward says, “I was getting ready to go home for the night. Was there anything else you needed?” 

Claire gazes at him, a thread of disappointment working through her chest. 

He’s quite possibly the sweetest, kindest young man she’s ever met. His loyalty is unmatched by anyone else who has ever had the job of protecting them. 

But she can’t keep him. Not for good. Last night was an exception - a thin, dangerous line like a tightrope high above a crowded city street. She already cares too much, and she must stop herself. 

“Ma’am?” He asks, his tone softening. 

“No, no, we’re fine. You should go home. We’ve kept you long enough.” 

Francis’ hand on her lower back alerts her that he’s left the cigarettes by the window to join the conversation. 

“Claire’s right, you should go home and get a full night’s rest.” He says. 

Edward’s gaze shifts between them, questioning and hopeful. 

“Right.” He says, at length, “Goodnight.” 

He turns to leave, his eyes trained on the concrete steps. 

“Edward,” Claire calls after him. 

She feels Francis’ fingers around her elbow, holding her back. 

Edward turns, and walks back to her quickly. “Yes, ma’am?” 

“You know we appreciate everything you do for us, right?” She asks, “You give so much of your time and energy to us, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.” 

A smile creeps along the corners of his mouth, and she can see the relief dawning in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” Francis says. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

He turns to go, but not before Claire sees the smile stretching fully across his face. They linger at the doorway as he get into his car and pulls away. 

She steps back, and eased the door shut. Her fingers curl around the brass door knob as she lets out a slow breath. 

Francis’ palm circles her lower back, his breath winding down the back of her neck. “Are you all right?” 

“Mm.” She hums, “Just tired.” 

His fingers grip her waist, guiding her around to face him. She leans into the cool glass of the door as he cradles her cheek. 

“Are you sure?” 

She loops her fingers around his wrist, and drags his hand from her face. 

“We both needed it.” She says, “But we have to consider the big picture now. We have to stay focused.” 

He nods. “This investigation is only going to get more intense.” 

“It’s late. We should turn in.” 

He laces his fingers through hers, and leads them up the stairs. 

She goes into the bathroom to wash her face. As she smears the makeup from her eyes with a damp cloth, she stares down her own reflection. The chaos in her mind has realigned itself into a uniform procession - manageable, and silent. Her mind is like the open sea, both calm and purposeful. 

Perhaps Megan has let her demons swallow her whole, but Claire won’t be victim to what she can and cannot have - or the gray areas in between where their night with Edward resides.  Edward was their last chance to see what it would be like to invite someone into their private space, and into their hearts. Ahead, isolation awaits, but it doesn’t frighten her.  Happiness is the least of her concerns. 

 

~the end~ 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](http://clairehales.tumblr.com//)!


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